Conversations and arguments
by Nimbus Llewelyn
Summary: Full title and summary on the inside. Basically a series of drabbles of converstions and arguments between Aziraphale and Crowley dotted at random throughout history. Occasional mild crossovers may occur. T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Conversations and arguments (occasionally drunken) between a Demon and an Angel**

**I own buggerall. This is going to be a story of episodes in which Aziraphale and Crowley argue, scattered throughout time space and other esoteric bits of the multiverse. **

_1959_

Crowley reclined in his chair, mostly to look comfortable because on the inside he was squirming, metaphorically pinioned by Aziraphale, ex angel of the eastern gate, the eternal opposite number, and patron saint of books glared at him with genuine anger in his eyes. Crowley looked closer and winced when he saw they were tinged with golden fiery flecks. Not good. That meant a bout of Holy Rage was in the offing. Crowley _really_ didn't like Holy Rage. It meant a quick trip to a long queue and a lot of paperwork in Hells Ill health and Lack of Safety offices.

Aziraphale broke the charged silence. "Why did you tempt Lewis? _Why_?"

Crowley considered the question while positioning himself as far away as he could from the angels wrath. He reflected on the question. He supposed he'd tempted Lewis because the man was insufferably pious, and he wanted to get one over Aziraphale after the angel had succeeded via Lewis's friend Tolkien and a personal appearance, to change an ardent atheist into the most influential Christian thinker of the 20th century so far. That debacle had nearly got him a roasting (literally) from below. So Crowley had insinuated himself into Lewis's company and tricked him into writing 'The Screwtape letters' over a couple of drinks. Well, a couple of dozen anyway. While Crowley had thought they were sufficiently Christian to pass the Angels notice, he had left his mark on the manuscript. There is something about the regular mentions of a demon in sunglasses that catches the eye.

Crowley sighed and decided to just say it and have done with it, as the Holy Rage was beginning to mount judging by the increasing amount of burning gold in Aziraphales eyes, and he was beginning to glow, meaning Crowley's only (slim) chance of avoiding a heavenly beat down was by telling the truth.

He sighed and said, "Because when you converted him to a Christian, you got one of the best theologians in the country. I needed to counter that." Aziraphale didn't look particularly convinced. Crowley tried again. "I wanted to match your achievement angel. I hate losing, and unless I try really hard, you win without any real effort. Good always wins. Isn't that how it's supposed to go? Hmm? Unless I do something big, you thwart it without second thought. My work wiped out in seconds. You're always patient, you're like water, you _always_ win. _That'ssss why _**(1)**." As Crowley spoke, the bitterness in his voice became almost tangible, and it was Aziraphales turn to lean back in his chair. As Crowley slumped, utterly dejected, Aziraphale looked at him with the sort of compassion only an angel and select humans ever managed, the Holy Rage quite gone. And despite being from a time before nations, Aziraphale, in the best British tradition, made tea. When he brought it through **(2)**, Crowley mumbled his thanks and topped it up with some miracle whiskey.

**(1) I think I'm correct in saying that Crowley hisses when distressed or angry, being the serpent of Eden.**

**(2) Aziraphale flatly refused to miracle tea if he could make it, claiming it would be giving in to Sloth, which Crowley did with great enjoyment (witness the miracle clothing),**

**So people, what do you think of part 1? I have to warn you it may be updated fairly infrequently as I have three stories to deal with apart from this one. And please Read and Review! I am getting sick of people constantly favouriting or putting on alert stories and being too damn slothful to review. **


	2. Chapter 2: Buggering about with Faust

**A/N: This fic goes in no chronological order. I own the square root of bugger all. PLEASE, Read and Review. I update more often when I get reviews.**

_Some (precise date unknown) time in the middle ages_

Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting in a German tavern, Aziraphale having suggested that maybe a change in scenery would be nice, and they were watching two men negotiate animatedly and furtively. Aziraphale radiated worry and nervousness, while Crowley radiated reluctant respect for both the smooth negotiation on the part of the seller and the beer.

The sat for a while and watched as the two men, one an eminent man of knowledge, the other, head of hells marketing division renowned for his skill at selling certain earthly delights in return for a soul in packages, such as physical improvement, knowledge and the all time favourite, power, concluded their business and shook hands.

Crowley broke the silence. "Say what you like about Mephistopheles, but he is one heaven of a good negotiator." He said admiringly. "He's got that Dr. Faustus wrapped around his little finger."

Aziraphale fretted, "What am I going to do now? Your side have just gone and bagged one of the finest minds in the region!"

Crowley lowered the two pieces of connected tinted glass that he wore over his eyes and glared down his nose at his fretting opposite number and erstwhile enemy (when Aziraphale got over the burning of the library in Alexandria in about 345. Crowley had claimed his sneaking into the library moments before with a burning torch was an utter coincidence. Surprisingly enough Aziraphale failed to believe him.)

"You go and thwart it angel, like you usually do. My guess is an unmarried old academic like him, will want a pretty young thing sharpish, so there's your answer." Crowley said irritably. Much as he liked his opposite number, he could be excessively dense at times, he thought, as he saw the light of understanding dawn on his face, which in an angel, especially one so intimately acquainted with knowledge and enlightenment (in book form), is no small thing. In fact, blissfully unaware to the awed and disbelieving stares he was getting from the bars patrons, his wings extended and he began to exude an inner light. Crowley hurriedly replaced his tinted glasses.

"Thank you Crowley!" Aziraphale exclaimed. Then he looked round, then back at Crowley. "Why are you wearing that infernal contraption? And why is everyone staring at me?" He asked, bewildered.

"Lose the glow angel, it's beginning to hurt." Crowley said, slightly irritated.

One of the bars patrons who was brighter than most, saw that Crowley was shown for what he really was in the holy light, and pointed at him, screaming, "Demon!"

_A very busy half an hour later_

Aziraphale was sitting next to a slightly scorched and very pissed off Crowley, who had narrowly escaped being set on fire. Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, and simply spat **(1)**_"Never. Again!"_

**(1) Being the serpent of Eden has its advantages. One of them is to put an incredible amount of venom (both metaphorical and not so metaphorical) in only a few words.**


End file.
